Caulifla's Debt
by RayLedgend
Summary: After the Tournament of Power, Caulifla is in debt and wants a fast way to make money.
1. Chapter 1

One day Caulifla was hanging around Universe 6. There was an evil bad saiyan named Artichi standing in the distance who had a lot of money. He was wearing an expensive black suit, almost shining like polished gemstone. He wore gold around his neck and wore a gaudy ring. He was even flipping a gold coin on his thumb to flaunt his wealth. Show off... Caulifla was in debt, so she needed to find a way to earn some cash.

"Hey there, big boy." Caulifla said. "You have a lot of money, huh?

Artichi shifted his eyes toward her without moving his head. His eyes trailed her from up to down, then he rolled them.

"Hey! Don't ignore me, guy! I'm looking for a way to earn some cash!"

Artichi yawned. "I dunno, girlie. Y'dont got much to offer me."

Caulifla smiled seductively, but her hideously gigantic eyes made it look goddamn retarded. "Oh, I think we can work something out." She tried rubbing her stupid looking inflatable tube-man arms on his thigh to turn him on. Artichi was not impressed. He backhanded her with a genuinely muscular arm that looks like an actual fighter's arm. The impact sent her tumbling into a nearby building. The crash of shattering windows ripped through their ears.

"Don't touch me ya fuckin slime!" He said. Then he felt the warm tickle of Caulifla's blood on the back of his hand. Artichi sucked in a quick hiss of breath, and removed a small white cloth from his breast pocket. He dabbed away her filthy blood and casually tossed the soiled cotton behind him.

Caulifla pulled herself from the rubble, cold jagged stone and glass rolled off her freakish pool-noodle shaped torso. She wasn't smiling anymore. She now looked angry and ready for a fight.

"Alright tough guy. You want a fight? Well, I'll give you a fight you won't ever forget." Caulifla gave herself a tingly feeling above her ass and went Super Saiyan. Caulifla shot straight at Artichi like gunfire. Her eyesight blurred as she broke past the speed of light. Wind dragged against her skin, screeching at her ears. Caulifla rolled her hand into a fist, pulled her arm back for a punch and let loose with wild abandon.

Direct hit!

…

With a brick wall right behind Artichi. Artichi had ducked her blow and escaped unscathed, quickly brushing dust and pulverized stone from his pristine suit jacket. Caulifla was on her knees, her arm elbow deep into the crushed brick wall. Her fist was badly broken and discharging blood in deep red ribbons along her skin. Artichi stomped roughly on her spine, causing her to cry in pain.

"This isn't fair!" Screamed Caulifla. "I'm a prodigy! The best in my entire universe! I'm supposed to win!"

"Ya dumb bitch!" Artichi stomped on her back again, a hair's breadth from breaking the spinal column. "Lemme tell ya a legend from a neighborin' universe of two saiyan children. Their names were Goten and Trunks.

Caulifla glared. This man, this full of himself prick wanted to lecture her? No. No way! She was Universe 6's strongest fighter! She would beat him! Caulifla roared something guttural and spun. The bones in her hand felt like broken glass, but she dragged them through the brick wall, carrying her momentum for a spinning backhand. Artichi caught the strike with his open palm and squeezed. Caulifla wailed in agony. Her shattered hand bones were being forced deep through her tissue, threatening to poke out the other end.

"Stop!" Artichi said. "And listen, fer yer own sake. Goten n' Trunks were goddamn prodigies. They say Goten became a super saiyan by accident when he was only 7 years old, and Trunks transformed before him. They were strong, but y'know what happened when they were tested?"

Caulifla glared at Artichi but stayed quiet.

"They got beat! 'Cause fer all their power, they never earned their keep! Their arrogance n' inexperience got 'em nearly killed. They got their asses saved by true warriors who pushed themselves passed their limits fer years! And you, bitch? You aint that! Ya got handed some piss easy wins in yer goddamn tournament but you didn't earn yer keep. That's why when push comes t'shove y'aint got what it takes. Y'got power but y'never worked for it. Yer second rate."

Artichi released Caulifla's hand and stepped back. She had stopped fighting. She knew that he was right. She was a failure. How could she have been so blind? It was obvious.

Caulifla fell to the ground face first and sobbed. Days later, Kale found her dead. She OD'd and killed herself. Kale realized why. It was because Caulifla was a loser. She took her own life, and soon Kabba did the same. Champa felt bad so he wished on the dragonballs that Beerus never came to Earth and that GT was cannon because even that terrible dumpster fire of a TV show was of superior quality to Dragonball Super.

 **The End**

 **A/N I hope I have opened your eyes, Super fans. The show is OBJECTIVELY terrible. Good day.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I fear I may not have convinced you all that Dragon Ball Super is a garbage cartoon show, so I decided to make a second chapter to bolster my thesis. This chapter takes place after Caulifla's suicide via overdose, but prior to Champa eliminating Dragon Ball Super from existence.**

Hit was hypnotized by the constant clatter of keyboards at his new office job. Nobody wanted to hire him as an assassin anymore since, frankly, he was just kind of embarrassing to work with. Man's gotta eat, though, so Hit abandoned his old life and started anew as an honorable part of the work force. Hit looked at his computer monitor, the dull glow of Microsoft Excel staring back at him. Hit sighed. So boring...

"Oh I get it! This job's too boring for you, huh?" The nasally voice of Hit's boss, Jacob Barnes, awoke him from his daze.

"Oh, sorry sir." Hit said. "I was just daydreaming."

"I don't pay you to daydream, maggot! I pay you to complete simple spreadsheets. Now do your job!" Jacob stomped away before Hit could respond. A few older women in neighboring cubicles quietly laughed at him. Hit grumbled to himself but began typing away.

An instant message popped up in the lower right hand corner of Hit's computer monitor. This was normal. The company had installed a chat program so that employees could message each other about work concerns without sending emails back and forth. This message came from "User112583" or Donald Miller for short. It read:

"Hit! Don't worry about that a-hole. He's just jealous that you're the newest and best part of our workforce!" Hit smiled. Don was kind of a kiss ass, but he really cared.

"Thanks." Hit messaged back. Then he got back to work. With his super speed, Hit was able to complete his assignments quicker than most. In theory. Unfortunately, his intellect was not exactly impressive, so he lagged behind many employees. When he finished, he printed the report, and took it to Jacob's office. He knocked on the door.

"Yes?"

Hit opened the door. "Here you go, sir. Today's assignment." Jacob wordlessly looked through the pages. His eyes darted back and forth behind his thick glasses, his expression furrowing as he did so.

"What is this?" Jacob said without inflection.

Hit felt his stomach squeeze. "T-today's sales report, sir." Hit's tone was unsure.

"No! This is crap! The numbers are all off! Or do you actually think we sold 10 million TV sets since yesterday!?"

Hit stepped back. In his haste, he mistakenly double typed some numbers. "I-I'm sorry, sir! I'll do the report again!"

"You disgust me, maggot! You think you're such a big shot because you're Yama Tori's kid? Because let me tell you a little secret: that's the only reason we ever hired you! Nepotism, not quality! Your work here sucks, and you're on thin ice!"

Hit felt his fists clench in anger. "Sir. I do not have to put up with this."

"He's right sir!" Both men turned to see Don Miller walking in. "Just because Hit's work is downright abysmal sometimes doesn't mean you have to berate him like that. We all have bad days." Don smiled and gave a thumbs up to Hit, as if what he just said was a compliment.

"Sometimes? Sometimes! Every time this waste of payroll gives me his report its full of sloppy mistakes! Every single day! I saw better work 30 years ago when we did this all by hand!"

"Ah, c'mon Jakey! Be that as it may, Hit still gives it his all! And even though he sucks, it isn't like Yama's other kids didn't make the same mistakes sometimes too, right? But you still liked them, didn't you?"

"Is that true, Hit? Do you really give it your all?"

Hit was about to say 'of course I do', on instinct, but he knew he would be lying. He shook his head slowly, full of guilt. "No, sir. I'm only here for the money."

Jacob 'tsk tsk'd. "Back when we released our 'Deity Battle' and 'Revival of E' products, Hit's graphs looked like he'd never even used a computer before. Then we released the 'Tomorrow Briefs' line and his reports were so nonsensical I could barely follow! Now we release the 'ToP of the Line' set and he's giving numbers that aren't even consistent with our own damn reports!"

Hit hung his head low. He understood his boss was correct.

"If this was one mistake, even two, I could let it slide. But every time we release a new product and I give this joker another chance, he blows it. He's out of chances. Hit, forget thin ice! You're fired!" Hit nodded his head. He knew the correct decision had been made.

When hit came home he started asking for work closer to his intelligence level, like "garbage man" or "janitor." Even these positions were too advanced for him. Hit starved to death out on the street, no longer able to afford food.

 **The End**

 **A/N – This story was an allegory. Hit represents Dragon Ball Super. Don Miller represents Dragon Ball Super fanboys, since he is such a dumbass. Jacob Barnes represents smarter Dragon Ball fans who are not able to look passed Hit's OBJECTIVE flaws.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Believe it or not, I am still receiving Private messages to this day from idiots who cannot see that I am right and that Dragon Ball Super is OBJECTIVE trash. As such, I have crafted yet another chapter to illustrate my argument. This chapter takes place within a few weeks of Chapter 2, but still before Dragon Ball Super is wished out of canon.**

Jiren slept out on a grassy field, waiting for sunup to start his new job. His old boss fired him when, after the tournament of power, he suffered severe concussions and memory loss. The mental deficits were, of course, unnoticeable since he never was the brightest bulb on the chandelier. He was actually fired because everyone just got sick of being around him. Jiren took the opportunity to find new work closer to his skill level. A fruit picker!

The sun crept over the atmosphere and bathed the landscape in a warm orange glow. Gentle sunbeams wrapped around Jiren's skin, rousing him awake.

"Ah, today's the day!" Jiren said as he stretched his groggy body. "I should head down to the orchard and meet my new boss!" Jiren donned a sombrero to better fit in with the illegal immigrants he would now be working with and ran to start his day.

The boss was a small old man with dry skin, cracking around his wrinkles. His body was sunbaked and colored a deep reddish brown, with small hairs growing out of discolored liver spots. He sat in a big lifeguard style chair overlooking the orchard. Jiren ran up to introduce himself, but tripped over his own feet and stumbled. He pulled himself to his feet.

"Sorry sir." He said. "My name is Jiren. I start today."

The boss looked Jiren up and down, a nodding motion that even included his shoulders. His eyes narrowed, and he spit a wad of snot to his side.

"Yeah." He grunted the word. "Jus' call me Montgomery. You ever pick fruit before?"

"Of course, sir! I pick fruit out every time I go to Wal Mart!"

Montgomery raised one eyebrow, then closed his eyes and let out a sigh. "I mean from a tree."

"Oh! No sir, but my dad told me that I should at least be able to handle a job like this without ruining anything for a change!" Jiren smiled widely at this.

Montgomery turned to the side, spit another snot ball, then turned back. "Yeah." He said, grunting. "Well, he aint wrong. Jus' throw the fruit in one of them barrels out there. You'll be workin' till sundown so don't start slackin'."

"Yes, sir!" Jiren rushed out toward the orchard with surprising speed. Stormy clouds of dust and dirt flew upward with tornado ferocity as Jiren pressed on with bullet like speed. Montomery was briefly blinded by the dry grey smokescreen. When it finally died down, dissipating into smokey wisps, Montgomery couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Jiren was a mere blur of motion. Unseeable as he zigzagged from tree to tree. Gales of wind acted as kickback to his unreal speed. Frigid bursts of air pulled and tugged the tree branches, sending leaves swirling free in the air.

Jiren was only gone for mere minutes, but he returned carrying tens of barrels full of freshly picked fruit.

"Sorry for the wait, boss!" Jiren said, acting cocky. "I think I got all of the fruit in the whole orchard!" Jiren gave a big ol' smug wink to his boss, but then realized that Mr. Montgomery wasn't happy at all. He was cartoon-like in his anger, skin even redder than usual. His eyes were wide and wild, his chest ballooning as he took in audible drags of air.

"Uh. Sir? What's wrong?" Asked Jiren.

"You!" Shouted Montgomery! "You ruined me!"

"Sir? I picked all the fruit for you."

Montgomery grabbed the first fruit from the top of the nearest barrel. "That's the problem! You picked all the fruit, even the stuff that aint ripe yet!" He held an apple out. It was smaller than a lightbulb, white as copy paper.

"Ripe?"

"Ever heard of it?!" A snot ball shot out. Montgomery did not bother turning his head this time. He grunted. "Half this fruit is useless! Can't be sold. Because you had to be the cool new kid in town. Didja want to impress me with how much better you were then all my other guys?"

Turn, snot, grunt. Jirn lowered his head.

"Well, y'aint! My old workers did it better. Oh, sure. You're new blood, you're flashy, but kid, you don't think! And now you ruined everything I spent years building up! My whole orchard. How am I gonna pay to replace all the soil you kicked up speeding around the place like Billy Badass on half a harvest?"

Jiren shook his head. "Sorry boss. I just- please give me another chance. I need this job."

"Another chance at what!? You picked all the fruit! I have no work left to give." Montgomery said, voice catching. "My life's work. Ruined."

Jiren had nothing more to say. He could feel his throat catching too.

"It's funny." Montgomery said abruptly. Jiren looked up. "Ruining things that people spent years meticulously creating. You remind me of that TV show that recently came out. D.B.S."

Jiren nodded. "I love that show!"

"You would." Turn, snot, grunt. "Because just like that show, you're nothing but a cancer. A parasite that piggy backs off other's hard work. But in your desperation to impress, you unknowingly ruin everything about that work. Jiren, you're fired. Never show your face to me again.

Jiren realized how wrong he had been all his life. For existing, for ever being born. Montgomery was right. Jiren was nothing but a cancer. Jiren layed his head on some train tracks, and closed his eyes.

 **The End**

 **I hope you will not need further convincing that Dragon Ball Super is OBJECTIVELY terrible. This chapter proves it beyond reasonable debate.**


	4. Chapter 4

**It would seem my previous chapter still didn't go over too well. As a result, I have crafted yet another master work.**

Saturday morning was one of the worst times for Ribrianne. A time that always brought stress and self loathing for hours to come. The worst part of the week, every week. It was her weekly weight check.

Ribrianne waddled out of bed and toward her bathroom. Her rolls of fat pressed against the door frame as she squeezed through. Ribrianne was scarcely able to fit through any doorways now without sidestepping and gut sucking.

Ribrianne sighed. Her bathroom walls were dingy. Discolored paint peeled away in spots and fuzzy shower mold was advancing to every wall. It really had been too long since Ribrianne had scrubbed the place down, but why bother? To her, this was a place of depression. It should look the part.

She looked down at the scale. It was a high tech, extra resistent model that big shipping companies use to weigh bulk orders. Ribrianne had needed the extra weight resistance after breaking one too many consumer models. She took in a breath and closed her eyes as she stepped onto the device. She did not want to see the result after she passed 400 pounds last week. Ribrianne slid open her eyes.

"ERROR - TOO FAT." Read the scale. She had gotten even fatter since last week! Her diet was officially a failure. Ribrianne could feel herself about to cry when she looked at her mirror. Huge discolored stretch marks all across her gut. Awful biceps distended over her arm bones like thick globs of butter drooping over a clothesline.

"Whale." She said. "God damned whale! Disgusting thing!" She spoke even despite the growing pain of tears in her throat. "How you gonna bury the pain today? Another tub of ice cream? A big order of large pizzas? Maybe an all-you-can-eat McDonalds run?" She said, feeling the tears roll down her oily cheeks. "How am I ever gonna beat this when the only thing that makes me happy is food?" She sobbed now, the ragged breaths making the word "food" come out in a series of "hoo-hoo-hoo"s.

Ribrianne wept to herself, but pulled herself into the shower. Even after washing, she still smelled since she couldn't reach all of her folds, but at least she had washed away the tears.

Once outside, Ribrianne decided to fly over the town. From her bird's eye position, her eyes were constantly drawn to the billboards and restaurant signs. She hated it about herself, but she could feel the growing hunger. On a whim, she chose the nearest place, the local KFC.

Upon her landing, everyone kept their distance. A nearby child pointed and laughed at her as the impact of her landing rolled up her body like the ripples on a watery surface. The boy's mom tried to shush him, but she found herself giggling as well. A nearby teenage couple looked on, awestruck. The one turned to her boyfriend.

"Would you still love me if I looked like that, Jake?" She said in an audible whisper, pointing right at Ribrianne. Jake just shook his head in disbelief. A level of fat that strains the rib cage. He could barely comprehend.

"Babe, I just feel bad for the guy who does end up stuck with her. Imagine having to admit to your parents that you were marrying that!"

"Oh my god, true!" She said, laughter just underneath the words. "Oh, gosh, imagine the wedding pictures! Would she even fit in the photographs?"

The two laughed to themselves as Ribrianne sniffled. "The guy who's stuck with me?" She thought. "If only any guy had ever tried to approach me. If even one man had ever told me I'm beautiful. Maybe then I wouldn't feel this worthless."

Ribrianne jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and saw a very rotund man staring back. Oh, good! A fellow chubster. Ribrianne felt more at ease.

"Hey, uh, I just wanted to say thanks for being here. For once I'm not the fattest guy in the room! Finally, people are judging you and not me! Feels good!" Then he walked off into the setting sun, a thumbs up in the air like the actor at the end of a low budget action movie. Ribrianne felt terrible once again. She shambled into the KFC and approached the counter.

The clerk went wide eyed at the sight of her. "What'll it be?" He said, resisting the urge to add the word "tubby" to the end of his sentence. He cracked his knuckles for what was sure to be a rapid fire order of dozens of menu items. Some kind of Big Smoke thing.

"Yeah, I'll take a 16 piece bucket, original recipe. Hold the legs and wings, replace them all with thighs and breasts. I want fries for all 3 sides, and I want a large Pepsi." The order was robotic, clearly recited before. The man at the counter just shook his head.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" He said. "Like this really isn't ok."

Ribrianne said nothing, but her eyes betrayed her pain. She brought a hand over her mouth.

"I mean, wow! That heart of yours can't take much more. At some point, it's time to quit, but you just keep going."

"I do not have to take this from you." Ribrianne said, stammering.

"Oh, I think you do. I mean, you think you're just indulging, but you're honestly killing youself. Like, your out of control eating is ballooning your body into a grotesque mass of fat! In a way, you remind me of that show, D.B.S."

Ribrianne wanted to take no more of this, but the clerk raised a finger to silence her before she could speak.

"Like, the same way you've ruined your body with bad choice after bad choice, so has that show. I mean, they turn the characters into stupid characatures of themselves. They disregard and disrespect the old lore that used to be. D.B.S. has irreparably ruined itself. Kind of like you. You should hate yourself."

Ribrianne tried to stare at her feet, but her gut was in the way. "I do hate myself." She muttered. She shut her eyes shook her head. She looked solemn as she made eye contact with the clerk again. "Can I just get my chicken, please?"

The clerk shrugged. "Sure. It's gonna cost you 60 cents per leg and 75 cents per wing to replace them, that fine?"

Ribrianne handed the man a $50 bill. He nodded.

"Yo, kitchen! One fatty supreme on the double!"

When Ribrianne got her meal, she went straight home and locked the door. She sat at her couch and sobbed as she chowed down on her KFC. Now isn't that an image. A blubbering (intended) hippopotamus moaning in tears as it scarfs down greasy fried chicken.

Ribrianne would not wake up for next week's weight check. She would die of a heart attack that night. Her KFC experience was the last thing she remembered.

 **THE END**

 **Much like Ribrianne's life choices, Dragon Ball Super is OBJECTIVELY terrible. The creators and fans should feel as bad as Ribrianne.**


End file.
